Witch Monastery-Chapter 326: Zombies in the Sewers

The sewers here ran deep—three or four meters below ground—but they were also sprawling, with ceilings over three meters high and passageways four or five meters wide. Even large beasts like oxen or horses could charge through comfortably.

Down the center ran a channel of flowing raw sewage, while along both sides were muddy, grime-caked walkways, built for workers to stand on while clearing out blockages.

As Charles touched down, the place erupted with the frantic squeaking of rats and the soft scurrying of worms—the sudden intrusion had clearly disturbed these underground natives.

An acrid, nauseating stench hung heavy in the air. Everyone donned thick masks, half to block out the smell, half to keep their identities hidden.

Luckily, it was winter—the temperatures were fairly low. Hard to imagine how the criminals and cultists could stand this filth in the heat of summer.

The witches floated down after him, each using their spells to drift gently from the sewer entrance. Theresa was last, sealing the manhole behind her. The group formed a line behind Charles, who led the way along the planned route.

Charles used a simple Light spell, illuminating the map in his hand and casting bright rays before him. He looked at ease out in front.

Yet for all his confidence, Charles wasn't actually scouting—the one doing that was Andny. With the sewers crawling with worms, this was her prime territory.

She might not control the whole domain and see everything at once, but sending out a handful of unnoticed mosquitoes to scout ahead—easy.

So far, nothing dangerous had come up.

And honestly, the threat level here was pretty negligible.

Liberl Port's sewers, while not quite beginner-tier like the South Harbor slums, still weren't all that deadly.

The reason was pretty simple: this was Liberl Port—the world's most prosperous harbor city; golden opportunities were everywhere. Anyone with a lick of talent could find a cushy job at City Hall or score big at a major company—there was no reason to crawl around in the dark fighting rats for scraps down here.

Beholder Xanathar was as tough as it got—a top-tier threat for sure, but maybe only on par with someone like Theresa. The only real risk was if he had elite minions lurking down here too.

The sewer network was vast, but unless your luck was abysmal, you'd almost never stumble into a truly deadly foe.

So Charles strolled at an easy pace; he wanted to meet Xanathar totally focused, at his absolute best.

They'd been marching for half an hour, starting to wonder if their quest would really be this peaceful, when a jumble of footsteps and distant growls echoed from up ahead—human, beast, or something else, it was impossible to tell.

The whole party instantly tensed. A moment later, Andny's voice sounded in their ears: "Careful! Foes ahead—necromancers and their zombies!"

Everyone's faces took on a steely resolve. Out of all possible sewer encounters, running straight into a spellcaster in the city—a necromancer, no less—was a real stroke of luck.

Not that anyone seemed all that scared. If anything, Charles looked thrilled—his eyes burning with anticipation.

Tiny as they were, every zombie here was worth at least twenty-five Purification Points!

"Battle formations!" he called. The team already knew the plan. "Get ready for contact!"

Charles lifted a hand, conjuring his massive greatsword from shadows. He activated a fifth-level Elemental Weapon—this time, channeling freezing cold instead of fire.

No way was he going to risk an explosion down in the sewers using open flames.

The moment he gripped the artifact, Montport's voice chirped in his mind: "Ugh, the stench! Oh, great, why do you always drag me to places like this?!"

Without changing his expression, Charles shot back mentally: "Shut up, Montport. Just be ready for a fight."

Montport grumbled but clammed up. Hattie slid up beside Charles, calling forth the dark power of Arms of Hadar—a shroud of black energy coiled around her, ready to ripple out as striking tentacles if any foe charged close.

Ruth melted into shadow, poised to strike down any high-value necromancer with lethal precision. Theresa readied a guiding bolt—for mere zombies, hardly worth going all out.

Meanwhile, Willo and Adele both prepared druidic spells, mother and daughter side by side. Only Andny, with her limited mana, kept her focus on watching the foe's movements: "Zombies are almost here!"

But honestly, no warning was needed—the group could already hear the shuffling right around the bend. Light from Charles's spell cut through the gloom, illuminating a knot of hideous, reeking zombies stumbling into view. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

Adele and Willo moved first, casting spells—a tangle of green vines erupted from the sewage, ensnaring the zombies' legs and stopping them in their tracks.

Although both were druids, their different tribes had distinct battle styles. Nidalee liked layering thorn traps everywhere, while Adele and company preferred binding vines.

The group's teamwork, though, clearly still needed work. Charles and Hattie had planned to hold their ground, blast the enemy with spells, then finish things in melee. Willo and Adele, on the other hand, were the charge-right-in types.

Still lots of rough edges to smooth out, Charles thought to himself, but he had no complaints. He surged forward, Longstrider already cast before entering the sewers—his body was featherlight and swift as the wind.

In three bounds, he was right up in the zombies' faces. He whispered, "Purify," and the blade of his sword flared with holy, milky-white light, slashing through the nearest corpses in one fluid motion.

Trapped by vines, the zombies couldn't dodge at all; flesh and bone parted like rotten paper before the artifact blade, decaying bodies bursting into white ash before they even hit the ground.

But now he was past the bend—he could see the big picture. A dozen zombies, all lugging sacks and crates, shuffling forward in a slow caravan.

Behind them, a handful of necromancers stood—caked on makeup, faces hidden by masks—still fumbling with spellbooks, searching for the right control spells.

Clearly, times were tough for necromancers too. They'd been reduced to using undead muscle for grunt work.

But Charles's raid had thrown a wrench into their supply run—the cultists had clearly thought this route was safe.

That realization stuck only for a heartbeat; the necromancers barked harsh commands, sending zombies lumbering forward, jaws wide and fists swinging at Charles.

Their nails and teeth dripped with vile toxin, and even their rigid arms could shatter bones—one bad scratch or bite and regular people would be dead meat.

But against someone blessed with Supernatural Gifts? It was like being pelted by cotton balls. The zombies couldn't even scratch his magical protection, let alone hurt his body.

In his current state, these zombies were nothing but target practice.

Still, Charles's breakneck speed meant he'd pulled ahead of the others; the rest of the party was slow to catch up, while the startled necromancers started slinging spells.

"Grease!" one cultist barked—the classic 1st-level spell.

Suddenly, a huge patch of sticky, shimmering oil appeared on the ground beneath Charles, covering at least four meters square. As Charles instinctively stepped back to avoid a surround, he slipped, spun, and landed hard on his back. "Ow!"

Flat on his butt, Charles looked a mess—but he wasn't actually in any danger. The rest of the girls nearly burst out laughing, covering their mouths to hold it in, except for Adele, who howled without restraint: "Hahahahaha—!"

Her laughter echoed through the whole sewer. Willo shot her a mortified look, pinching her arm sharply as if to say: control yourself!

Meanwhile, the remaining zombies swarmed forward, flailing at the downed Charles. The teasing crowd snapped back to business, quickly summoning more vines to immobilize the attackers.

Hattie lunged in as well, lashing out with spectral black tentacles, further slowing the zombies' attacks.

That gave Charles a moment to scramble to his feet, cursing his bad luck as he brushed off grime. Gritting his teeth, he readied his blade once more, the purifying light flaring as he stepped in to finish the last of the zombies.

Across the channel, the cultists raised their spellbooks to retaliate, but a massive guiding bolt came crashing down, blowing the skull off the nearest necromancer—his half-finished spell dying with him.

The other necromancers barely managed to start their next incantations, but in that split second, a blade flashed out from the shadows.

Ruth—already silently lurking in their blind spot—whirled with outstretched arms, her sharpened fingertips slicing open throats and ending every remaining life in a single, lethal arc.

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